


The Chariot (VII)

by sabinelagrande



Category: Taskmaster (UK TV) RPF
Genre: Aftercare, Breathplay, Cuddling, Episode: s10e05 I Hate Your Trainers, F/M, Face-Fucking, Facials, Fear Play, Frottage, Hair-pulling, Held Down, Kink Discovery, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Obsessing, Size Difference, Tarot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:07:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27611827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: The Knight of Wands and the Emperor; or, don't have your tarot read if you don't want to find things out.
Relationships: Greg Davies/Richard Herring, Richard Herring/Catie Wilkins
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	The Chariot (VII)

**Author's Note:**

> Caution: This is a fear play story. As such, it has one person verbally and physically threatening another; there is some choking (to the point of lightheadedness, no farther) but no physical harm. Everything is consensual, but please be advised.
> 
> Also, y'all, I'm so damn exhausted of thinking about quarantine and trying to write around it that I blatantly just said fuck it for this story. Enjoy this COVID-free pornography. Wear a mask. Wear a condom. Hell, do both at once, I don't judge.

To Richard's mind, it fits the task perfectly. He can be expected to do certain things with twenty pounds: buy beer, spend it on the kids, donate it to something, put it in his shirt pocket and find it in the dryer days later. A very unlikely thing is spending it on a service that he does not believe in because it's made up. That tarot reading is an actual thing you can learn how to do, with rules and norms and things, is not in dispute; that it can tell you anything and thus is a service you should pay someone to perform is an extremely unlikely thing for him to agree with.

But a kind-looking woman named Jani has agreed to meet him here on Zoom for twenty pounds of Taskmaster's budget's worth of prognostication, so here they are.

They've done introductions and talked a bit. Richard has to remind himself that isn't some kind of investigation, just a thing he's doing because he's never done it. If he feeds her information on accident, it really doesn't mean anything or put him on the back foot.

"The first card represents you, the querent," she says, when they begin the reading proper. They've both been cautioned that they can't show the cards, copyright issues, so she sets it down out of shot. "Looks like we open with the Knight of Wands."

"Is that good?" Richard says. All this is bullshit, but he wants to be a good querent and everything; he's not going to mock a nice lady to her face.

"I'd say it's quite positive," Jani says. "The suit of Wands is the suit of creativity and fire, so the Knight of Wands is someone who is searching out creative pursuits and trying to put his energy to good use."

"Oh," he says, a little surprised that it actually sort of sounds like him. "That's alright, then."

The reading goes about like he expected for the first few cards. He can tell that she's leading him, but she's getting a pretty good hit rate; not bad for twenty quid.

"Now moving from there, let's take a look at what dominates the present," Jani says.

"That would be a good thing to know," Richard replies.

"The Emperor," she says, laying out the card, and she looks at Richard with a funny little smile on her face.

"Right," he says. "And what's that one mean?"

"Cards like the Emperor don't always refer to people, and they don't always refer to people who match the age and gender they depict," she prefaces. "But here, in the present, sitting above everything, is the Emperor. The Emperor is a very masculine figure, someone who is in control and rational, but ultimately in a fatherly, caring way."

"Is that me?" Richard asks; he's very rational and is indeed a father, though something tells him that's not right.

"Mm," she says. He can't see, but he hears her tap another card. "You're the Knight of Wands, remember? The Emperor is someone else."

"Do you know who?" Richard asks.

"This is the first time we've spoken," Jani says patiently.

"Right," he says, feeling stupid. "That's a little bit out of your wheelhouse, I reckon."

"I'm not much of a clairvoyant," she says. "But if you like, I can tell you a little about what the Emperor is likely to do."

"I would like that," Richard says.

She turns over another card. "Oh, that's interesting," she says.

"That feels like a terrible thing to hear during a tarot reading," he says, frowning.

"I think this one is what you make of it," Jani says. "Here in the near future, we have the Chariot. The Chariot can mean more than one thing. It has the power to break through obstacles and clear the way, but if the Emperor has control of the Chariot, if you're not careful, he'll overtake you."

"What would that mean?" he says, because it feels uneasy, something in it twisting him a bit. It's already clicked for him who the Emperor is, even though he'd feel more comfortable denying it.

"That I'm not sure I can say," she says. "You're a man who likes to be in control, Richard, and you see yourself as very logical."

He has to pull the hell out of this one before it gets to be more than he wants to put on television. "Can you see how I'm going to do in the competition?" he says, steering it away. "Can you work that out?"

"Let me see," Jani says, and if she looks a little bit like she knows what Richard is doing, she doesn't say anything about it.

They finish the reading, Richard thanks her, they hang up, he writes about it and doesn't post, since it needs to be a surprise.

He's actually gotten to this pretty late in the timeframe, having spent about two months dithering and planning before he struck upon the idea. There's just a few short weeks before they tape the studio tasks, and Richard needs to get ready.

It is more than enough time for the whole thing to burrow into his head, stick into his brain, not let go. He really doesn't know why. He doesn't seem to even really remember what else happened, other than the Knight of Wands. Quite unlike himself, he looks up all the meanings and pictures of the cards; if he wants to he can mangle the combination into another sense, another outcome, but he knows he's lying.

They're finally in the studio, and he looks over at Greg for the first time as the Taskmaster, in the flesh, in his throne, the Emperor personified, and he feels lightheaded for a moment. He's flustered for the majority of the first episode, maybe accidentally says some things that are wildly suggestive, but he manages to get it reined in.

It's a long week.

Jani was right; it is close, but Richard is happy with the way it ends. Greg gives him a bear hug afterwards, the way Greg is wont to do, and Richard tries not to feel weird about it. It's just that Greg is big and solid and an expert in the art of hugs, and it's nicer than it should be. Richard is so unbelievably frustrated with himself. He plays it off, does the thing where he looks charming in a way people inexplicably find sweet, but it's still sticking into him, jabbing at him.

It would probably just work itself out, leave his system, but the toaster breaks.

"Pop, you son of a bitch," he spits, shaking it roughly. He's already yanked the plug from the socket, but it's too hot inside to put his fingers in. The stupid fucking thing isn't a year old, and it was too bloody expensive to be doing this. He lifts it up; nothing to do now but try the Russian method-

And a pair of hands slide onto his, a body pressing against his back. The fight goes out of him all at once, and he lets Catie guide the offending toaster back to the surface of the counter.

She steps back, and Richard turns, sheepish and embarrassed. "What did that toaster ever do to you?" Catie says gently.

"Oh, you know," Richard says. "It looked at me funny."

"Rich, what's got you so worked up?" Catie says, concerned.

He sighs, feeling frustrated and a lot like an idiot. "I can't get that stupid fucking tarot reading out of my head," he admits.

"That is the last thing I ever expected you to say," Catie says, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know why some cards are bothering me so goddamn much," he says. "It's just the Emperor and the Chariot, and-" Catie is looking at him in complete uncomprehension. "The Emperor is like the big masculine figure, yeah? And obviously it's Greg, because he's big and masculine and very much in my life right now, and it was next to the Chariot, right, which breaks obstacles and runs people down, and I don't even know what it would mean for Greg to run me down, the idea is completely nonsensical but it's stuck in my fucking head."

Catie just looks at him, frowning, turning her head this way and that like she's examining him.

"You do know you want to fuck Greg, right?" she says.

"What?" Richard yelps. "Of course I don't want to fuck Greg. He's, he's just a friend of mine, a coworker-"

"Is that what you're telling yourself?" she asks.

"It's the truth," he insists.

"It's really not," Catie says.

"I am a married man," Richard says firmly.

Richard's wife, with whom he has a standing, mutual free pass arrangement, raises an eyebrow. "That seems like an odd gambit."

He thinks about it. "Yeah, fair."

"I'm not judging you for it," Catie says. "He's not my type, but I see the appeal."

"You like men you can loom over," he says.

"Guilty as charged," she says, smiling. "And you like to get loomed over."

Richard would like to deny it. It's just that he can't. He used to feel the need to pretend he wanted someone shorter than him, as is the done thing, but sometimes Catie does this thing where she pushes him against the kitchen counter, puts her hands on either side of him, and looks down at him, and he loses his fucking mind. It's intimidating in exactly the right way, the kind that makes him squirm and makes him hard at the same time.

He doesn't even fucking come up to Greg's shoulder. It would take Greg absolutely nothing to overpower him.

Catie kisses his forehead. "I just hate to see you get all tangled up. Just relax and it'll be okay."

"I mean," Richard says. "Not that I want to, but if I did-"

"You can sleep with Greg," she says, and she sounds a little like she's taking pity on him; that's not really new. She did consent to marry him, despite the fact that he is a shambles. "Standard terms and conditions apply."

"Of course," he says, cupping her face with a hand and kissing her, and they don't talk about Greg again for a while.

He does feel a little less frustrated, having named it. He wasn't aware it was any degree of obvious that he was attracted to Greg, because _Richard_ didn't know. It leaves him with a different kind of feeling, one that's harder to articulate. By now he's forgotten that it wasn't true, that tarot isn't even a thing he believes in. It feels like it's still coming, like Greg is going to overtake him, run him down. It feels inevitable, and it scares him in some deep part of him that makes him shiver.

It doesn't have to be like this. That is not a thing Richard remembers anymore.

And yet he goes over to Greg's anyway. There's nothing untoward about it, just an invitation that Greg made completely innocently- have a few, talk nonsense. Richard actually did bring alcohol, but it is wine and through a series of events not cold, so it's sitting in the fridge while Richard is sitting on the couch. Greg is sitting on the other part of the sectional, leaning back a bit, his long legs crossed in front of him. He looks good, relaxed, but it's coiling Richard up.

They're just chatting, really, like you do. Greg is bemoaning the fact that he's writing again, a thing he- openly and with relish- admits to hating.

"I'm just going to write some dumb fucking horror movie and make millions," he says. "All you have to do is cast some hot young things who'll work for nothing and make sure somebody shows off their tits, and you're done."

"Oh god," Richard says in disgust. "I watched the worst possible example of the genre the other night, _and_ it wasn't scary, _and_ the tits were unremarkable."

"I thought you didn't like scary movies," Greg says.

"I don't," Richard says. "It was Catie's thing. But if I watch one, I want to be really, properly scared. Otherwise, what's the point? This- this Leatherface knockoff, he wasn't-" he holds up a hand- "and I mean this with all due respect- he wasn't even as big as you are, so what's so scary about that?"

"I'm perfectly happy to scare you if you need to be scared," Greg says, in that calm, no-nonsense way that Richard knows is partially an act. Richard hesitates that little bit too long, doesn't bat it away fast enough, misses his grip on the edge, and now suddenly, horribly, they're there, where Richard desperately doesn't want to be. "Oh," Greg says, his eyebrows going up. "So, ah, it's like that, is it?"

"Fuck's sake," Richard says, rubbing his forehead. He's not going to be able to walk this back, because it's here, it's happening, the Emperor on the verge of running him down. Maybe others are convinced that's a sexual reference, but there are plenty of ways Greg could flatten him. "I don't want to have this conversation."

"We can skip it if you like, but that's a bad idea," Greg says.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Richard says.

"You'll find I'm not very threatening," Greg says, a little uneasily.

Richard takes his hand away from his face. "You're over a foot taller than me," he says, like Greg is an idiot. "Of course you're threatening."

"Let me take that again," Greg says. "If what you think you're going to get out of me is just someone big and scary who can throw you around a bit, I'm not interested."

"You said 'just' in a very interesting place in that sentence," Richard says warily.

"Well, yeah," Greg says, like Richard is an idiot. "I can be scary when I put my mind to it, but so far all this has the flavor of 'I'm running around on my wife because there's something she can't give me,' and I'm not having that."

"Catie is taller than me," Richard says, a little defensively, then realizes it's not helping. "This all went sideways very quickly."

"Too right," Greg says. "Look-"

Greg is so very, very close to saying something like, "Look, let's just forget this ever happened," so Richard quickly blurts out, "My wife knows everything and I'd still have this problem if I didn't want you to intimidate me."

Greg doesn't say anything for a moment. "What problem?"

"Come again?" Richard says.

"You said you'd still have 'this problem,'" Greg says. "If asking me to be scary is not the problem, then what is?"

"Oh," Richard says. "Um, the whole problem of being attracted to you."

"If your wife knows, then what's the problem?" Greg asks. "Or is this a problem in the way that hitting on anyone you're attracted to is a problem?"

"Yes," Richard says, pointing a finger at him.

"Right," Greg says. He looks Richard up and down. "You're okay for an old man." Richard laughs, some of the tension going out of him. "See, isn't that better? Can't go around having you be the wrong kind of scared."

"Sorry," Richard says. "I am a wreck."

"That's funny," Greg says. "I thought you were looking for somebody to wreck you."

"Why are you so good at that?" Richard says, and Greg looks confused. "How are you calm right now?"

"I never said I was," Greg says. "I'd be ripping off my clothes if I let myself, and I wouldn't even remember to take off my shoes. This is me acting, because I like how it makes you squirm when I seem to know what the fuck I'm doing."

"I'm going to attribute you being able to think circles around me to the fact that the blood is rapidly leaving my brain," Richard says.

"If you like," Greg says. "So if you're interested and I'm interested-"

"In that apparently not as unlikely as I thought event, right," Richard says.

"How exactly did you see this happening?" Greg asks, frowning thoughtfully. "It's just that I don't quite know where you're coming into this, whether it's something formal for you, or-"

"Oh, right," Richard says, his eyes going wider. "Ah. Um. I didn't come in with any plans, actually, just sort of the inclination."

"Interesting," Greg says, looking at him a bit skeptically.

"Should I go get some plans?" Richard asks nervously. "Listen, this all came on very precipitously and I didn't get any farther than 'I want to get overwhelmed and overpowered and fucked.'" He pauses. "That was more than I should have said."

"It was at least a start," Greg says. "That's three items for an agenda."

"I don't know whether I'm ever going to be able to articulate it better than that, especially without having done it," Richard says, feeling a little miserable.

Greg gives him a searching look. "Would you be willing to trust me?"

"Probably," Richard says. Greg doesn't respond, still looking at him, waiting for a real answer. Richard sighs. "Yes."

"What are you willing to do sexually?" Greg asks.

"You know, first date stuff?" Richard says uncertainly.

"I need to know if you fuck on the first date," Greg says, raising an eyebrow at him.

"When it was a possibility, I absolutely did," Richard says.

"I'm not going to hurt you physically," Greg says. "I am going to scare you, and I am going to make you do sexual things."

"What sort of things?" Richard asks.

"You don't know," Greg says, in a way that makes Richard shiver a little. "Say 'stop' and it stops. You have to actually say the word 'stop.' I'm not going to accept 'don't' or 'no.' Repeat that to me."

"It won't stop unless I say 'stop,'" Richard says, and weirdly, it's making him calmer to be going through it methodically like this. "S-T-O-P or bust."

"Good," Greg says. He stands up, unfolding to his full height, and before Richard can say anything, Greg grabs him by the shirt and wrenches him upwards, pulling him to his feet like he weighs nothing. He turns Richard around in the same movement, shoving him backwards.

Richard is honestly kind of surprised he keeps his feet. He has a lot of sympathy for horror movie heroines right now, because Greg is advancing on him, inexorable and just so much bigger than him. If this were any kind of normal situation, Richard would break and run for the door, but he's not trying not to get caught. Also, he kind of wants to keep Greg in his sights, if only because it's making his heart beat faster; Greg has this look of dark promise on his face that is unbearably attractive, and Richard can't look away from it.

Richard doesn't smack against the wall, because he's not going fast enough; he just steps back and there it is, unyielding and inescapable behind him.

"I wonder what would really scare you," Greg says, stepping in, and now he's right there, not touching but only just. Richard has to tilt his head all the way back to be able to look Greg in the eye, and he feels like he's baring his throat. "I'd say it might be being forced to do something-" Greg leans down, blocking out the light. "But I dare you to look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn't do anything I asked you right now."

That's the thing: he would. Greg only has to say the word and there is nothing Richard wouldn't jump at the chance to do. He'd let Greg use him in any way he pleased and beg for more. The thought of being forced is just so much less scary than the fact that he _wants_ to be.

"Ack," Richard says, because it's the only sound his suddenly-dry mouth can make.

Greg laughs, a cruel sound. It doesn't sound like him, and it's so fucking hot that Richard's cock twitches in his pants. "I'm going to ruin you," he says, "and you're not going to stop me. You'll be completely wrecked and begging me to give you worse." He bends down further, til he's almost face to face with Richard. "Aren't you?" Richard fails to know how to talk, so Greg roughly grabs him by both wrists, slamming them against the wall above his head. "I said, aren't you?"

"Yes," Richard says, in a voice that he doesn't recognize, thready and meek.

"I know your kind," Greg says, and something about it being said that way feels so much dirtier, makes him feel cheap, ten a penny. "You're not going to be happy until you're destroyed. You're just a scrap of a thing, and I'm going to break you into little pieces." His hands tighten on Richard's wrists, not quite to the point of real pain. "Fancy trying to get away, or are you going to take what you're given?"

Richard has completely blanked out, his brain fried; he can't think of anything at all but how hard he is, how he's starting to sweat under his clothes. He is genuinely afraid, because he's at Greg's mercy and Greg actually is more than enough to really fuck him up. It's just being overwhelmed by how much it's turning him on, how much it makes him just want to open up, take everything.

"Knees," Greg says, releasing his wrists, and Richard is going before he really knows what's happening. He hits the floor too hard and winces, but he looks back up at Greg; he might as well be looking at a wall for how far up he has to go. "Touch me."

Richard goes up on his knees to try and make the angles work out, but it's hard to miss the way Greg's cock distends the front of his jeans. Richard feels the length, pressing in just a little so he can really get a sense of it, too gone to be worrying if it makes him look overeager. He wants it, and he's pretty sure he's about to get it.

"Every inch of that is going down your throat," Greg says, and it hits in Richard's spine, a thrill of real threat. "You better hope you're ready for it."

Greg pushes his hands away, undoing his fly and easing his jeans and briefs down. His cock is satisfyingly big, though Richard regrets that thought when he realizes Greg is about to shove it into his mouth, probably quite roughly. That's not what happens next; instead, Greg gathers all of his hair up, holding it in one fist. It doesn't actually hurt, but Richard knows that's not the point. The point is to have a handle.

Greg pulls down on his hair, making him tip his face up. "Open your mouth and stick your tongue out," he says, and Richard swallows hard and then does it. Greg rests his cock on his tongue, and Richard desperately wants more than that, just the weight and the outline of it. "You look good like this," Greg says, with the edge of mocking in his voice. "Next time, I'm going to take pictures."

Richard gasps. That borders on too scary, even though it's the emptiest of all these threats; it's bullshit that pictures like that would ruin his life, but they would. Greg doesn't leave him thinking about it, though. Instead he takes the opportunity to push into Richard's mouth, which Richard can deal with much easier. He starts sucking immediately; he can't move his head, his hair still clenched in Greg's fist, but he can move his tongue, try to make it as good as he can. 

"You are an eager one, aren't you?" Greg says. "I think you like me doing this to you." Richard can't help it; he groans in agreement. Greg laughs cruelly. "Hands behind your back. Keep up or I'll choke you."

Richard quickly obeys; he grabs his wrists so he won't be tempted to move or wring his hands. No sooner than he's done it, Greg pushes in deep; Richard isn't expecting it, and the suddenness of it is enough to make him gag.

"This isn't going to go well for you if that's all you've got for me," Greg says, and he grips Richard's hair tighter, using it to move him. He's doing it a bit shallower, and Richard sucks for dear life. 

Somehow, despite all of this, he wants desperately to please, wants to show Greg he can be good. At this point, why is a complete mystery, but it has him trying to take more, straining against Greg's hand where it pulls at his hair.

"If you don't fucking calm down, slut," Greg says. He doesn't give it a conclusion, just pushes into Richard's mouth deeper. Richard is only breathing in stolen gasps, air sucked in through his nose, and he's starting to feel lightheaded. He has no choice but to keep going, just keep up and hope Greg would stop if he ran out of breath or choked.

Richard's heart is pounding and he's not sure his cock has ever been harder. He's trapped, penned in between Greg and the wall, both of them immovable and massive. He wishes that he wanted to get away, but he doesn't. He just wants to stay here and be used, let himself be trampled flat. He can't even catch his breath, but he feels so _alive_ , adrenaline ripping through him, though he picked neither flight nor fight.

Greg wrenches his head back, and Richard gasps for breath. "Mouth open," Greg says, and he's got his cock in his free hand, stroking it quickly. Richard opens his mouth and closes his eyes. "No," Greg snaps. "You look up at me."

Richard makes himself open his eyes, and he lets out a little helpless noise at the look on Greg's face. He looks terrifying, like he could just end Richard entirely if he wanted; Richard's hips thrust forward, his lizard brain overtaken by it for a moment, how horribly attractive it is. Greg bites his lip, and then he's coming, hot splashes on Richard's skin. It gets into his mouth, almost hits his eye, but he can't look away from Greg's face no matter what he does. He feels fixed in place, like an insect on a pin.

Greg sighs, sounding a little like a bear, and he finally lets Richard's hair go. He tucks himself back into his jeans, zipping them up. Richard shuts his mouth and swallows; he reaches for his face, wanting to wipe it off before it starts to itch.

"Nobody told you you could move your hands," Greg snaps, with every ounce of the power and control he had a moment ago, and Richard immediately grabs his wrists again. "You don't get to wipe it off. You deserved it." Greg bends down. "You can count yourself extremely lucky if I so much as let you get cleaned up before I throw you out." 

Richard bites his lip hard; he thought maybe this was going to be finished when Greg got what he was after, but that doesn't seem like the case. Then again, coming wasn't what Greg was after, not really, not all of it.

"Ask me for what you want," Greg says harshly.

Richard is absolutely in tatters, unable to put two words together. "Please," he says, and he already sounds hoarse.

"Is that all you've got?" Greg says, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," Richard says.

Greg snorts. He puts his foot down between Richard's legs, close enough to graze his cock. "If you can't use your words, you get treated like an animal."

Richard would like to say he holds back, is forced to do it, but it isn't like that at all. He presses against Greg's leg immediately, finally getting some blessed relief. His cock's been hard this entire time, no matter how scared he was; having to hump Greg like a dog is not how he wanted to relieve it, but he just needs something, anything, so desperately that it's eating him from the inside.

"What a needy little boy," Greg says. He combs Richard's hair back with his fingers, both his big hands on the sides of Richard's head, and it feels nice even now. Richard's eyes drift shut, his hips working quickly as he chases it, already too close.

"I'm going to give you what you need," Greg says, in a gentler voice, even if he still sounds superior, a promise instead of a threat. "I'm going to rip you to shreds with my bare hands." His fingernails trace over Richard's scalp, and Richard shivers. "Are you going to let me?"

"Anything," Richard says, so desperate that it comes out as a whine, so overloaded that he doesn't know how he's speaking. "I'll take anything, please-"

"Good boy," Greg says, and there's something about the way he says it, cold and cavalier and so unbelievably certain. Richard gasps, shaky and broken, coming without even touching himself, the wetness of it disgusting in his clothes but nothing next to how good it feels.

Richard sits back heavily, feeling dazed and lost. There's nothing left; he feels hollowed out. He doesn't understand why it feels good to feel that way, but something is peaceful about it, restful.

"Stretch your arms out," Greg says softly, his hand resting lightly on Richard's head, and Richard does it. His shoulders are tight, and he rolls them a little bit. "That's good. Like that." Greg strokes his thumb over Richard's hair. "Can you stand up?"

"I have no idea," Richard says honestly.

"Fuck it," Greg says, which Richard doesn't know the meaning of until Greg hoists him up. Greg throws him over his shoulder, making a grunt of exertion, and walks off with him.

The destination is Greg's bedroom, where he throws back the duvet and lays Richard out on his bed, which seems massive. "I'm going to undress you, alright?" Greg says. "You'll be more comfortable."

"Mmm," Richard says, because while he still feels like he's floating, his pants are sticking to him uncomfortably. It's better that Greg takes charge of it, because Greg has got him out of his shoes, jeans, and pants while Richard is still picking at his second shirt button.

"I've got it," Greg says, brushing his hands away, and he sounds warm and fond, not quite like how Richard knows him but unbelievably comforting.

Greg is still dressed when he climbs in next to Richard, but he's solid and radiating heat, and that's all that's really interesting. He pulls the duvet up over both of them and then puts his arms around Richard. He always suspected Greg would be a great cuddle, for the same reasons that make him a natural at being scary: there's just really a lot of him. He wraps Richard up, resting his chin on the top of Richard's head, enveloping him.

Richard feels like he's unstuck from his body, just a little bit, lost. He pulls back, and Greg looks down at him in confusion, or maybe concern. Richard puts a hand on the nape of his neck, and Greg bends in and kisses him, his hand running up Richard's spine. There's not an intent behind it, not really, beyond the fact that it feels nice and makes Richard feel grounded, a little more within himself.

They carry on like that for a good long while, until Richard pulls back. "I really hope you don't usually facefuck people on a first date," he says.

Greg laughs in surprise. "I also don't make them hump my leg," he says. "I'm exponentially more polite than that. You just weren't interested in me being polite to you."

"You're not wrong," Richard says.

"Did you like it?" Greg asks.

Richard's impulse is to say something like "Well, what did it look like" but the question is more serious than that. "I thought maybe you were going to kill me," he says. "It was incredible."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Greg says.

"Did it-" Richard says, not knowing how to ask and feeling deeply vulnerable. "Was I, you know, alright at it?"

"Jesus Christ, Rich," Greg says, in that way he does when he thinks people are being willfully obtuse. That in itself tells him a lot, but it's not enough. Luckily, Greg continues. "Do you have any idea how unbelievably fucking hot you were like that?"

"I wasn't aware you found me hot at all, really," Richard says.

"We have a good time and make jokes about being gross old men," Greg says, sounding a little annoyed, "but I don't know where in that I said I wouldn't fuck the daylights out of you."

"Oh," Richard says. He shrugs. "I suppose you sort of did."

"I made some headway," Greg says, and Richard groans.

"That was low even for you," Richard says.

"I take it where I can get it," Greg says unrepentantly.

"Well, you certainly got me," Richard says. It's funny how it seems fine now, like nothing; it was inevitable, and now it's come, and he feels perfectly happy to have been overrun.

"That, I have no complaints about," Greg says, tugging him closer. "I'd be happy to get you again later, but I need a good long rest."

"You have no ambition," Richard says, smiling, and Greg laughs, running a hand up his back.

The cards did not foretell what happens next, which is fine, because Richard doesn't believe in them anyway. Now he's just got to plot his own course, and nothing about that bothers him at all.


End file.
